


coursing my blood

by thefloatingcity



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: F/M, actually vvv sad at first, angstish bc, buut !!!! sweet ending, everyone misses fiona bc fiona was so kind hearted, fionas a sweet child who did not need to be killed off btw, hugh misses his gf tbh, lots of sadness, this was really lame tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:11:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8013253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefloatingcity/pseuds/thefloatingcity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A tree caught her! Shes alive, look I know what I did wasn't okay, it wasn't okay no matter what, but you can't just leave her down there! She wad abandoned and she rightfully needs help! Lecture me later, let me help her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	coursing my blood

**Author's Note:**

> FIONA DIDN'T NEED TO HER, HER DEATH WAS BULLSHIT IM BOYCOTTING  
> also am I the only one that noticed that hugh jacked off after he n fiona cuddled in hollow city it was lowkey but he did yall

He was gone. Bed disheveled, comforter divested carelessly to the ground, window forced open, the hive that was built in the uppermost corner of the right corner of his room, stark empty. There was no hint of a bee buzzing, no nothing, and Olive was the first peculiar to see Hugh's departure. 

They all, originally, had come upon to leave the boy alone. He was notably mourning over the death of one of his closet friends, companion, girlfriend even. They all knew if you messed around with a boy who was overflowing with emotions, there were chances of a whirling hurricane headed towards their way, so they let him stay in his room for long periods of time (they only persisted when he refused to eat dinner). Since Olive was the sweetest child ever existed, she went to Hugh's doorway, hoping to cheer him up with a little joke Enoch had once told her. 

That's when she found that. 

She, at first, didn't know how to react—she simply gaped at the messy environment, then realized the entire situation, and how dire and how dangerous it was, and she began to hollor and shout. "Hugh left! He's gone, Miss Peregrine, he's gone!"  It didn't take more than a minute for almost every child to thunder down or up from where they were occupying, eyes widened as they stared nervously at the surroundings. A second after the peculiars arrival, Miss Peregrine followed, gently moving the kids out the way as she swallowed up the truth.

Hugh had left. Ran away even. But why? Everyone here drowned him in innumerable amounts of love and their warmth (even Enoch who grumbled and gave him a half-assed hug), but nevertheless, he left. She didn't skip a beat, she didn't dare abuse by another second by staring, and she declared, "I'll be sending a letter to Miss Wren. She's the closest loop he could go to." Even though she hadn't added more, she knew from deep within her aging heart that he wasn't just there because it was the closet loop.

He was there because he wanted to find Fiona. 

 

• ● • ● • ●

 

Hugh had arrived to Miss Wren's oddly silent loop, just a couple of hours after the letter Miss Peregrine had sent out (delivered it directly from her own beak). Sweating, panting, bees lazily circling across his skull, he approached the distinctly different shape of that building that had puzzled everyone when they first had laid their eyes on it. 

Fiona was there too. 

God he felt his entires wilt like a dying flower at the simple name, every inhalation seemed to pierce his lungs like they were being crushed down upon from every possible angle, his heart felt like it was ripped from piece to piece. He felt a distant weight pile down on his thin shoulders, on his already-heavy chest and when he sighed, it sounded oddly crushed. His heart sputtered it's beat as his mind directed roughly back to the wild child, whom which their last goodbye was, thankfully, pleasant and a tad bittersweet. Hands linked, foreheads pressed together, lips barely brushing together. 

God help him.

He merely laid down on the grassy floor, the dirt pressing against his arms and legs, seeping between the crack of his fingers as he gripped the dirt, ear pressed against the Earth. Listening for a heartbeat. The world pulsed underneath the foliage when Fiona roamed around with Hugh, a solid thunk-thunk of a heartbeat. He waited patiently for something, a little pulse, this was where Fiona seemingly died, so the energy should be fierce. 

Maybe leaving was a faulty move, something he shouldn't have done but—he needed bodily proof of Fiona's death, or the guilt of believing a fucking talking dog would eat him away. What if she needed help and was dying this very moment? What if she waiting patiently for him? And he never came? He'd rather be severely punished for trying then allow the guilt to swallow and eat him away into a pile of bones. 

He heard it—faint, distant, detatched from reality but nevertheless the same as before; a mellow, relaxed, beat-beat of a bass energy. She wasn't dead, she couldn't be dead, she was alive or the Earth wouldn't be still beating and a sudden, overwhelming amount of joviality that he bursted up with a fresh strength, and before he headed back out of the loop, a hand gripped his shoulder. 

Whirling around, he faced the headmistress of the loop, Miss Wren who watched him slowly. "Hugh. Come inside, please dear." Moments later he was inside, with Addison at his feet, a mug of cold tea between his hands. He was eager to leave, to prove Fiona was alive and not dead, and the bees that exited his mouth was awfully ballsy for buzzing around Addison, but they were just as stoked as he was that his love was alive and he barely listened to the lecture Miss Wren was giving him about scaring the fuck out of Miss Peregrine before he interrupted. "Fiona's alive—I, uh, came because she's alive. Still. And she needs my help—"

"She fell from such a height, dearie, she would of died no matter what." 

"A tree caught her! Shes alive, look I know what I did wasn't okay, it wasn't okay no matter what, but you can't just leave her down there! She wad abandoned and she rightfully needs help! Lecture me later, let me help her."

Addison opened his mouth a bit, ready to bark at how it's not okay to yell at my mistress like that you ungrateful twat but paused when Miss Wren laughed. She laughed a soft, old lady laugh that wasn't condescending or dark, but seemingly sweet. She nodded, laughed again, nodded once more. "I agree, Hugh. You've known her for so long, to leave her there isn't okay. I suppose you can go ransack the woods, but bring Addison along." 

 

• ● • ● • ●

 

She was alive. More alive than he thought he was. There was so much signs she was well and okay—footsteps (same shoe size), little notes on the dirt about where she was and if she was okay and a little 'S.O.S' in a mini help for the people in the loop to maybe catch the sign and see she was okay. But, he hadn't found her. Only fresh footsteps in her wake. 

The hope curled, wilted, and evaporated away in a tornado and he simply shoved the feeling down, shoulders curling forwards. He had to go back home now—the sky was a melting pot of many shades of colors, the sun was being swallowed by the horizon, he had to go back home it was home. Home sweet home. He didn't want to go home, he wanted to stay, destroy the entire forest until he found his ALIVE girlfriend, his BREATHING and WELL girlfriend that was more alive than him. 

But Miss Peregrine arrived before the sun officially sunk away, arm held out to Hugh so they could leave. On a quick ferry to Cairnholm, away from where Fiona could potentially be. Any "man" demeanor seemed to crumble away and he leaned against Miss Peregrine and let loose the tears. Heart-crushing, stomach-wrenching sobs that even made Miss Peregrine's heart twist from each exhalation and inhalation of depressed hope. And when they arrived, the kids stayed away more and more. They saw the red-rimmed eyes of Hugh, the rigidity of his posture and the weak clench of his fists.

If only he knew. 

When he went back in his claustrophobic room, he hadn't noticed the windy smell of flowers, the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle. He simply plopped on his bed, only to land on something particularly squishy and smushy, and a elbow jammed lightly in his gut for him to GET OFF, but it didn't take much to encourage him to get off. 

A pair of warm, chocolate-y brown eyes stared back at him, attached to a pale face, with a mess of messy, messy hair. Fiona. 

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Hugh suddenly felt dizzy, so goddamn dizzy, his vision blurred as his eyes remained steadily on his girlfriend, hands shaky. It can't be her, it can't be her, he frantically thought, hands reaching out to clasp onto her's and instead of meeting air, he touched warm fingers that knotted through his in a affectionate manner. 

The realization of her being her made a goofy smile cross his face and he made a cry, a little cry which meant he was goddamn close to crying again and she held him close as he burrowed his face into her shoulder, inhaling her earthy scent gratefully, nearly sobbing with every fiber of his body in relief.  

They were like that for a while; Fiona holding onto him, Hugh gripping needily onto her.


End file.
